


All the Stars in Central

by DarlingArthur



Series: the world will remember our names [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bonnie & Clyde, Gun Violence, Gun mentions, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Murder, criminals, criminals in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 04:40:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8876311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlingArthur/pseuds/DarlingArthur
Summary: ( ain't got nothin on your eyes when you 'say let's hit em one more time' )
Mick Rory was no saint, never had been never would be, but by the God he almost never prayed to Len almost made him seem normal. Len with his quick itchy fingers who took and took and took because he couldn't quite stop himself in all things, love, life, money.ORthat one bonnie & clyde au no one asked for





	

It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for Len to wake up in the spare moment between one heartbeat and the next. It wasn't even uncommon for him to wake with wide eyes and the sluggish post rest heartbeat already beginning to pick up with the first dredges of adrenaline his body pumped through him like blood. It most certainly was not uncommon for him to paw at his bed companion with cold hands and a gleam in his eyes, one hand pressed cool and firm against the burn scars at the nape of Mick's neck. The gun he held in his other hand in a relaxed grip was trailed just as cold against Mick's temple. It was all very very commonplace by now. The motel was dingy, the carpet was worn, the shower only got half heated and the sink dripped, not that any of that mattered because Mick and Len weren't exactly looking to settle down. Especially not when Len dragged him out of bed lips and body pressed to him closer than sin and all but pulled him toward the door. Len was what Mick had more than once fondly called ‘an adrenaline junkie,’ he needed something to get him going, sometimes that was Mick. Mick's hands and his mouth and his cock and the almost-not-quite burn of too much, too fast, not enough, don't stop.

Then there was now, now being Len pushing and shoving just as bratty as usual and Mick behind the wheel as Len took his gun apart over and over again leg jumping once, sporadically before settling into that same focus. Now was Len almost throwing his gun down and his left hand gripping Mick's upper thigh in a silent plea. Mick obliged him, needle inching more toward 100 than the docile speed signs indicating 55 would have liked. Now was Mick watching him from the corner of his eye, a grin on his face as Len heaved a sigh and practically melted back into his seat after that first initial burst of speed threw him back. It wasn't enough, not by a long shot but Mick knew they were coming up to where Len needed them to be. It was more than just adrenaline, it was more than just making a living. Mick'd happily settle down in just one city and do more than hit up the odd gas station or quick mart. More than just an atm here or there but, Len? Len was always thinking about the next score and how he was gonna get it.

Mick Rory was no saint, never had been never would be, but by the God he almost never prayed to Len almost made him seem normal. Len with his quick itchy fingers who took and took and took because he couldn't quite stop himself in all things, love, life, money. Len didn't care all he knew was he got an itch and he had to do something about it. Len who took and took and took until Mick was a sated wrung out mess, laid out over bed or carpet and panting hot breaths into the already humidity drenched air of the room. Not that Mick minded. Len's single minded focus was always set to finding the next score and his next hit of adrenaline but damn did it feel good when Mick got to sling a molotov straight out the window. Damn did it feel even better when his foot pressed down, heavy as lead against the gas pedal, lips almost always pressed, searing, against Len's.

And it was, without a doubt Len or Lenny and not Leo. It hadn't been Leo since him and Mick'd shown up at the door one night, drunk as a skunk and higher than the moon off of a cocktail of success, adrenaline and post-sex bliss. The sort that left your muscles like limp noodles and made your toes curl. Hadn't been Leo since Len had slunk in shiny new gun drawn and Mick's muscle behind him. It felt right, right about then, when Lewis' eyes had grown wide and his mouth had slipped open. It felt right when Len had aimed the gun at him and Mick had punched him in the face and it felt right when Mick had curled half possessively against Len's back his big hands bracketing Len's thin wrists. It felt right when Len pulled the trigger and his father bled out in that shitty old arm chair he'd spent most of Len's life in. Lazing around and drinking and flying into a rage at the slightest provocation.

Len hopped into Mick's old beat up car a wild grin on his face, a fleck of blood here or there and eyes so bright Mick almost looked away. Len's fingers hit a staccato beat against the top of the flaking red paint and Mick's breath had caught, goddamn he was the prettiest thing Mick ever stole. And fuck if Len didn't want anything unless he had to work to steal it, which made it a miracle to Mick's fevered brain that Lenny would want him, Len never did have to try very hard to keep him around. Neither could say how it'd begun, the life of crime sure, but the rest? The way they curled around each other in the scratchy motel sheets, bills and bullets and clothes all over every surface, the way lips met harsh or gentle in turns.

But none of that mattered right now, not with Len's lips kipped up into a lopsided smirk, one brow raised as his foot revved the car engine teasingly. Mick grinned wild and uncontrolled as he cocked the gun at the shaking clerk, all but snatching the money from his hand before pistol whipping him across the face once, hard and sure. They were down the highway, money shoved into the glove compartment and hands twined around the gear shift as Len lead foot the pedal. Their fingers fit together and Mick laid one heavy hand on Lenny's thigh kneading the muscle as he leaned over one sure kiss pressed to the sharp jut of bone that was Len's cheek. Course he couldn't stop there with just one kiss, not when Len all but shuddered, one violent full bodied twitch that had their engine roaring for a moment in competition with the wind.

Mick trailed his lips down, down to Len's neck. This wasn’t uncommon either, the adrenaline surfacing as the need to fight or fuck and damn if Mick hadn’t already done the first. His hand squeezed Len’s and his lips parted to nip teasingly at the skin of his throat, a barely there, teasing thing that skirted the edge of pain, and left Len needy and panting and frustrated. Even after all the things they’d done this still flirted with the edge of danger that made them both grow that last bit harder, Len’s foot hit the pedal, and Mick’s hand trailed, trailed from the gearshift to Len’s parted legs. He couldn’t score his short and blunted nails against the pale skin of his thigh through the rough denim so he settled on what he could do. One slow, sweeping pass up from knee to crotch before he cupped where Len was straining hard against the zipper. And fuck if the noise Len made didn’t make him feel powerful, fuck if his heart didn’t beat just that little bit faster. He swallowed once before he swooped down placing one teasing, torturous kiss at the zipper of Len’s pants, enjoying the creak of leather as Len’s hands all but spasmed against the steering wheel. The car veered off to the side in one quick jerk, before they were back in their lane. 

Road head wasn’t as hard as people though, really, just don’t be that fuckin idiot who tried to get in the floor space, so Mick wasn’t worried when his hand snaked over to undo Len’s fly, was cool as anything, even with his face flushed and his breathing coming a bit hard. Len for his part jerked his hips up and hissed in one sharp breath at the sudden relief from the pressure of his straining cock pressing up hot and hard against the zipper. He swallowed hard, sure, suddenly that if Mick did much more than tease him he was going to blow his load, road be damned. So when Mick’s lips pressed chaste and almost sweet against the precum pearled head he narrowly avoided jerking his hips up, as is, his cock bumped clumsily against Mick’s mouth, which opened, wide, and swallowed him root to tip. There wasn’t anything pretty about it, this wasn’t for the show, Len could feel the back of Mick’s throat fluttering around him as he choked, shifting against him in small little jerks. The car’s beat up old engine was roaring and Len’s hand left the wheel to pet half unknowingly against the Mick’s head. 

“Fuck. Mick. _Fuck_ , your fucking mouth.”

He wanted to pull him up, to look into Mick’s green eyes and press his thumb against the corner, watch the way the red spit-slick lips parted and pulled. Wanted to be at a hotel asap and fucking or getting fucked, he wasn’t picky. Just wanted Mick, Mick’s big hands, and sweet mouth, Mick’s rough voice and rougher body. Len wanted the adrenaline fucked right out of him until he was sated and warm and the antsy itchy feeling under his skin left him. He was like a junkie, it was like he overdosed and was just waiting impatient and desperate to sweat it out. But god if he wasn’t ever gonna get Mick out of his damn system. Caught him like the flu, and fuck if he couldn’t regret it. Not with Mick’s tongue flicking at the underside of him, not with his hand squeezing firm and a bit rough, just the right twist to his wrist to make up for not swallowing him all the way down. The engine kept roaring. 

Len almost came, almost whited out from pleasure, and his leg jumped in the confines of his jeans, pulled halfway down his thighs and damp with sweat and god knew what else. He swerved off the road, dust and dirt flying up in the dark and Mick froze. They sat there for all of one moment, staring each other in the eyes, Mick smug, and a bit triumphant, and Len frustrated before they were both climbing out of the car, Len’s pants undone and his cock half out. They met in the middle pressed against the hot hood of the car, still rumbling, still running, like their frantic heartbeats, the metal was almost searing in the desert night and none of them cared. They didn’t care when Len pinned Mick halfway against the hood, not when he shoved his knee up between Mick’s thighs and all but growled when he ground down against him fighting for that friction. Len was an active participant now and Mick was just as ready as he was. 

Their mouths met and it was messy and wet, full of seeking tongues and sharp biting teeth, it was an argument, Mick catching Len’s lower lip between his teeth only to release it slowly, Len sucking Mick’s tongue and bearing him down, this was the fight and the fuck and Len’s hand fumbled with Mick’s zipper, half distracted by the hot hard skin he could feel through the denim. He dropped to his knees, inelegant and focused, the zipper gave way and he didn’t waste time, Mick was a heavy weight on his tongue, familiar and welcome. He took as much as he could into his mouth and the rest he worked over with one sure hand, if he didn’t know Mick’s body by now he didn’t know anyones, and he proved it, drawing out one low groan after another with his lips and tongue, pressing against the thick vein on the underside and sucking on the head of Mick’s cock just the way Len knew he liked. When he looked up at him Mick was looking back, staring him in his eyes, chest and neck and face flushed red and voice a low low tremor. 

“Fuck, _Lenny_ , your _mouth_ Len. Your fucking mouth. God, suck it.” Mick thrust, once, hitting the back of Len’s throat and making him gag, tears pooling in the corner of his eyes before he set up a shallow rhythm. “Yeah, just like that baby, just like that, suck it like you fucking _mean it._ God, don’t know how Lenny--don’t know how I don’t just keep you on your knees keeping my cock warm in that pretty mouth all day.” 

Len moans, half the words, and half the sound of Mick’s voice, the way it drops, lower even than usual, half growls and half gasoline, the deep timbre of it so different from his own. Len moans and Mick pulls out suddenly only to pull Len up and crowd him against the hood, chest pressed to the flaking paint as Mick pins his wrists with his own wide hands, his body weight pressing down to just this side of painful. Just enough for Len to feel it. 

His cock ground against his clothed ass, the denim rough but the friction so good, especially when Len arched his back and pressed. Fuck. How did Mick get so lucky? Then he’s shoving Len’s pants down, and digging through their pockets and thank fuck one of them thought ahead, before he’s spreading lube on his fingers and despite the hurry and the desperation Mick takes his time. Mick always takes his time, takes his time to massage at Len’s hole, takes his time to ease one finger in, almost gently before he adds more lube, and presses in a second, scissors him. Mick finger fucks Len until he’s shaking, until Mick feels like he’s going to get blue balls, until the only noise Len can make is a desperate whine from the feel of Mick’s thick blunt fingers pressing in, over and over again when he wishes it were his cock instead. Even with the lube it’s a bit too dry, but fuck if they don’t make it work, if Mick tries to go slow and holds Len back by his hips to stop him from just spearing himself onto Mick’s cock. Makes him feel every inch by inexorable inch press into his hole, spasming and clenching around him and making him hiss in a drawn out breath. When Mick bottoms out, finally, finally. Panting hot and humid into the damp hollow of Len’s neck and shoulder, he gives up the game of taking his time, bites down hard, and just takes him. _Fucks_ into him like he owns him, and Len’s hands scrabble uselessly against the hood of the car even as each thrust presses him forward in jerks. 

Len sounds like he can’t even think, that lightning fast brain of his shut down until he’s panting _moaning_ , calling Mick a fucker, and a shit, and _demanding_ that he fuck him harder, faster, begging him not to stop, like Mick could. And his nails score against Mick’s scalp, he’s sure it’ll be there tomorrow four red lines across his skull like Len’s marking him back. Like Len owns Mick too, like he’d want to. And the idea of it has Mick fucking into him harder, has him pressing Len down till his chest is against the metal, bent all the way over and taking it, Mick’s voice a rumble by his ear. 

“That’s it Lenny, yeah, you like that don’t you? Like getting filled up, like me stretching you round my cock, don’t you Lenny?”

Len turned his head to the side, one hand reaching back, almost futily to land on Mick’s shoulder, to bite and dig in with his nails as he gasped, as he shuddered, between Mick pressing in, between Mick fucking him and the friction of the metal below Len was close to cumming. But fuck if he didn’t know what Mick was doing. Fuck if he hadn’t been with him long enough to recognize his bullshit. His voice rasped out sincere as anything.

“Fuck, fuck, yeah Mick, fuck, _love your fucking cock_ , love you fucking me _Mick_ , love you.”

Len didn’t come then, even if he were the world’s biggest drama queen but he fucked back onto Mick’s cock and dug his nails in, and when Mick leaned down that last inch and bit. Len’s eyes whited out, and his body spasmed painting the hood of the car. 

Mick followed not long after, fucking him through his orgasm, and thrusting in, one, two more times before he pulled out, covering Len’s back and dotting the car. Mick was breathing hard, the night air wasn’t humid, but it certainly felt that was as Mick all but rolled off and leaned against the hood, as Len stayed bent over catching his breath. He’d just finally gotten his breath back to almost normal when he replied.

“Love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not entirely sure if I'm satisfied with this but I figure I'd throw it up anyway. I'm debating making this a series, sorry the smut sorta ran away with me at the end.
> 
> Title from Ludo's All the Stars in Texas.  
> This is pretty much the closest to a songfic I'll ever get.


End file.
